#* FINN STOKELY / thread / anita .

[someotherdog]

@finclgicls / finn & anita, the church's bake sale a few weeks after their not-so-platonic breakup. / posted in beta.

she was there. finn inhaled sharply. he was there. finn exhaled flatly. he shouldn't have been surprised to see anita there with her husband, as they were married, but he had been surprised to see her there at all. the semi-annual bake sale wasn't his favorite out of all the functions that st. joseph's held, but it was one that didn't require a lot out of him. he mostly had to show up, bless the treats if the baker requested it, eat more cupcakes and slices of banana bread than he could ever had wanted, and help clean up once it was over. most of his parishioners, at least the ones that participated in the baking, viewed it as a competition even though there were no judges at the event. it was also a place to gossip, though his parishioners didn't really need a special occasion to do that. it was another reason he had to worry. if one of his deacons or other pastoral associates saw him stealing glances towards anita, would they report him to their bishop? was the person that reported them in the first place in the room? his stomach hurt and he doubted it had much to do with all the baked goods he had been forced to try.

he couldn't avoid her forever. he knew that, and though he was scared to approach her, he worried it would look stranger if he didn't at least say hello. like that would imply they were guilty of something after all. that didn't mean he was going to seek her out, though. waiting until their paths naturally crossed, finn gave a small smile at the lovely couple. "i'm glad to see you two made it. have you made anything to sell or just came by to get some of mrs. campanelli's amazing blueberry muffins?" he asked genially, giving the elderly mrs. campanelli a squeeze on the shoulder since they were standing in front of her booth.

[someotherdog]

it felt like an impossible situation. all he wanted to do with his life was to help people. he had wanted to be a priest since he was a teenager, having no backup plan or other dreams for himself. besides a little construction work during the summers in college, he had no job experience to speak of. among his many vows, one of them necessitated poverty; he earned a small salary, but he had no credit to his name. as far as the world, and the government, was concerned finn barely existed. he was a priest, nothing more. he felt like nothing more sometimes, a man unable to have interests or hobbies outside the church. friends, too. he wasn’t allowed to have a friend like anita. as much as she needed him, there had to be a limit to that need. there was a boundary around him, the cassock was a cage that he willingly put on every day. it was his life’s work. it was his life. there was no one in the world that finn could leave his life for—not even anita.

it was an impossible situation. she was right, as much as it upset him to hear it. her life no longer concerned him, not in a professional sense. that didn’t stop him from caring, however. even if she walked out the church forever, never to see her again, he’d still worry. his bishop could forbid him from continuing a friendship with anita, but that didn’t stop his feelings. that didn’t stop him from being concerned about her jealous husband. she didn’t open up about him much, even just a hint like the one she said a moment before, suggested something worse underneath the facade. of course finn had a healthy concern for all his parishioners, but there had been something more with anita. something dangerous. something the bishop saw. there was no other choice.

did he expect her to just accept it peacefully? selfishly, he had hoped, but he knew it would end angrily. what else could be said? what else could be done? despite how badly he wished he could take it back, it had been necessary. there was nothing to do but let her go, let her hate him for the rest of her life. finnegan would just have to come to terms with the fact that while his life’s purpose was to help people, sometimes he couldn’t avoid hurting them. he hung his head, no longer bothering trying to defend himself, only looking up when she wished him a nice life. sighing deeply, finn nodded. “same to you, anita.” with that, finn stood up and placed a hand on her shoulder. “i really do mean that. you deserve a long, happy life.” giving her a sad, final smile, he turned away and exited the pew.

anita felt like her ground was being taken from under her. there was a lot she expected from life, but not this. not this rupture. not the loss of the only friendship, the only person, she had been able to count on. she needed him. and maybe this is where they had a problem. between church, work, and home, her life had been pretty empty and she wished she had a choice in it, but every time she attempted to have a life of her own, her husband got jealous, and a jealous wesley, was all too irrational. if she took too much time out with friends, she was better to have an excellent excuse to avoid a fight, to avoid aggression of any kind. she had been working towards opening up about it to finnegan, but his dismissal on that day felt just as if he had built a wall between them again. hers were now higher than that church's ceiling. it was not the right time—and he was not the right person to say this to, no matter how she had trusted him before then, he was willingly letting go of her hand—there wasn't really another way of putting it, was there?

she was pretty sure her eyes over him were not only questioning but entirely incredulous. who did he think he was to think he could even know about her personal life anymore? part of her wanted to share, though, part of her wanted to pour out to him and show him the bruises and ask for his help in getting out of that situation, but she swallowed it back before it could crawl out. wesley's words resounded inside her mind—she really didn't have anyone not outside of him, anyway. anita looked at finnegan, everything from anger to hurt right there, in the sharpness of her gaze. "that doesn't concern you, father," there is a hint of frustration and hurt in her voice, but it's not loud, it's barely a whisper. this awfully feels like a break-up and she doesn't know what to do with the hollow that seems to be taking further space inside her chest.

gathering herself to put as many miles as possible between them, anita sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "maybe it's for the better that i don't come to your masses again," she was not the one to make a scene, she wasn't going to force herself on him and she was not going to beg him to stay. she was tired of begging people to stay. it was funny because she just assumed finn would be steady guidance, instead, now there were walls, torn bridges, and just about miles separating them. "i thought—" she starts, but doesn't find it in herself to say that she thought he might be different, she thought he might be the one to pull her out of this mess, it didn't matter now. he was no longer her friend, as he had so gently put it, and in a neverending effort to guard herself, as she had always done, always being the one to protect her own heart, she now had him added to the list of people who hard hurt her in some way. "nevermind, it's not important. thank you for your time, father, i do hope you continue to guide your parishioners as you have done so far, have—uh—have a nice life, okay?" her voice sounded final, they lived in a small town, but it almost seemed as if she would never see him again. perhaps she'd become just another statistic, in all honesty, anita felt more resigned now than she ever did.

[someotherdog]

finnegan had been warned that this would happen. not even that it might happen, but that it would. that it would most likely happen when he was still a relatively young priest and still considered handsome (finn, at the time, had been slightly flattered that his seminary teacher called him that), but that he wasn’t ever safe from it. that some women, and some men as it were, confused his role as their pastoral leader with a personal relationship, even for feelings of affection or attraction. finn cared for all his parishioners, but he was closer to some over others, anita included. anita most of all. sometimes that closeness could be misconstrued, by others or the parishioner themselves, and sometimes even by finn. it was a perilous part of the priesthood, not at all uncommon among the clergy to fall in love with someone that relied on them heavily for salvation and comfort. it was up to the priest not to blur the lines, no matter how much they may have wanted to.

because, sometimes, finn did want to. sometimes he was tired of being responsible for his parish’s souls and adhering to strict rules that even some bishops had a hard time sticking to. he wasn’t blind to the way that anita often looked at him, as if he was her hero. that he was some intrinsically perfect person. she had divulged a little about her marriage, mostly that her husband simon was a heavy drinker, and that was when finn realized he could never fully be himself with her. she would realize that he, too, dealt with the same demons as her husband. that he wasn’t perfect and damn well no hero, and while he had been sober for two years, he would always struggle with the urge to drink. he may have been a recovering alcoholic, but he would always be an alcoholic. that, on top of his disastrous relationship with his family, was his biggest shame. how would she look at him if she knew? how would everyone in his congregation look at him?

so, he kept quiet about it whenever anita brought it up, and he would never tell someone to put up with their husband’s addiction if it was causing them strife. some other priests might’ve, but never finn. not when he knew what it was like to be the addict. he sensed there was something deeper there in her marriage, but never pressed on; if there was something she wanted to tell him, she would’ve, and only when she was ready. her reaction to his question made him worry, however. eyes following as she left the pew, his hands clasped together and he leaned forward on his knees. “are you saying he’s controlling, anita?” he asked, concerned. briefly he wondered what her husband thought of his wife’s meetings with her priest at night. “i can help you, but only in a professional capacity. that’s what i’m trying to tell you. i can help you in the role of your priest, but not as your–uh–friend.”

anita wished she could fully explain how much solace she found in father finn's presence. if only he understood, maybe he wouldn't be so quick to cut off their connection. while anita recognized the complexity and inappropriateness of her feelings for the priest, not a single ounce of guilt tainted her heart. they felt right, pure, god-given. she would never impose her desires upon him, yet with each passing day and every interaction, she found herself drawn closer to him, yearning for more. she cherished every moment they shared, and if he were willing, she would willingly take more. but it seemed he had drawn a line, and the sting of rejection coursed through her, casting her back into the depths of her own personal torment by taking away the happiness she found in escaping her troubled home to be with him.

everyone in their community thought anita's husband was some holy saint, but they were blind to what really went on behind closed doors. she had shared some of her struggles with father finn. simon's drinking, the verbal abuse she endured, but she never told him how bad it really was. she didn't want his pity, thought she couldn't handle it. but now, in this tough conversation, the thought of his pity rivaled her current emotions, his apologies never meant less.

"—but they're not," dismissively, she brushed off his apologies, unsure if they meant anything now.

anita's gaze locked with father Finn's as she heard his question. needing some distance from him, she got up from the familiar wooden bench where she often sat to listen to his sermons, and crossed her arms protectively, a symbolic barrier between them, feeling like maybe she was alone in all this, and this sudden break was god's way of saying he was leaving too. "i don't know what you mean by that, father, but he always knows where i am," she said, her tone shifting from confusion and affection to hurt and defensiveness. "simon knows everything i do, and when he doesn't, he makes sure to let me know how mad he is that i left without telling him." she closed her eyes momentarily, sighing deeply, as a whirlwind of frustration, hurt, fear, and a myriad of other emotions swirled within her, leaving her uncertain of what the future held.

[someotherdog]

his eyes traveled down from her angry face to her hand, noticing how the sun glinted off of her wedding band. just another reminder of why they could never be. all those alternate universes, all those other lives would never be the one he was currently living in. anita would never be his. anita would never, ever think of him fondly again. his own fault, but the diocese held some blame as well, which helped salve the pain a little. just a little.

she was right. he made his choice. rather, his choice was made for him, and like any good clergyman, he did as he was told. bishop told him how high and finn jumped. what else was he supposed to do? leave the church for anita? she was married to a powerful man and finn had nothing to his name. an orphan twice over, both parents and grandparents gone, and his three siblings rarely spoke to him anymore. if he left the church, there would be nowhere for him to go. he’d be all alone. even more alone than he already was.

at least he had god to keep him company.

“okay.” finn replied simply. there was nothing else to say. the relationship he craved with anita died weeks ago, corpse still lying on the pew where they sat when he ended it. he had to bury it all. he had been burying things his whole life: his parents, his grandparents, his feelings. what was one more thing to shove down?

with that, anita turned and walked away.

finn stood there, watching until she was a just hazy figure in the distance. / @finclgicls

end scene.

anita wanted to shake father finnegan. slap him and kiss him all at once. she didn't know what she expected him to reply, but as he did, she found herself deeply disappointed. she wanted more than just that. more fight in him. wasn't she worthy enough to inspire that? wasn't what they had nurtured worthy enough to want to keep existing in each other's lives?

but what had they nurtured?

it was an answer she didn't know how to answer. was it friendship? no, whatever it was their bond, it felt stronger than friendship—she was woman enough to realize the feelings that had grown inside her. the feelings that had made room inside her heart.

but then—realistically—what was she asking of him?

could she really be able to ask him to leave his life of service for her? could she ask him to choose to give up his calling and every choice he had made before then for her? she didn't think of herself as worthy. no. not whatever they felt for one another. not whatever she represented to him. it wasn't worthy, and she knew that because there was nothing she could give him in return that would explain such actions. it pained her to realize that. to realize she wasn't enough for him, just as she wasn't really enough for simon. when anita thought her insides couldn't fracture further, there she was, unable to hide the cracks of her miserable attempts to mend herself back together with glue and scotch tape, pins and needles.

"don't—" she held her hand up, "there are no other universes, no other lives. you have made your choice father, and i have made mine." for a moment, she thought about how she would choose him in any universe, in any reality and quite possibly in any life. but the opposite didn't happen—couldn't happen—and the rejection made room for itself inside of her, creeping inside her bones, making her sag.

there was no fight in her, there hadn't been any fight within her for a long time. her relationship with simon was whatever simon wanted and imagined, and she figured she might even feel his anger for her sudden disappearance, especially when she had done so with finn. simon was her present and he would be her future, that much was clearly something she couldn't fight. anita would do the best she could with whatever she had, and without father finnegan there for her.

"i'll do my very best to stay out of your way."

and with those parting words, she walked away.

away from finn.

away from god.

away from herself. ＋ @someotherdog

[someotherdog]

he felt ashamed, scolded and controlled like a little child, and the bishop was effectively his disappointed father. in a way, he was controlled, and he had willingly asked for it. that was the life of the priest, beholden to god and upholding the church—he didn’t have the freedom that other men did. he wasn’t allowed closeness to just anyone, which might not have been fair, but it was purposeful. finn’s soul would be in danger if he was tempted by the wrong person, and when it was put into perspective like that, sacrificing his friendship with anita didn’t seem so hard, so unfair. for the sake of his soul, for the sake of the kingdom of heaven, he could give her up. he didn’t want to, but he could. now could she do the same for him? that was what was unfair, that anita didn’t have a say in the matter—how much of a say did finn have, really?—but he’d have to cut her off regardless. he may have represented god to her, but his bishop represented god to him, and what else was there to do when god said he could no longer have a friendship with anita? “i’m sorry. i wish things were different.” if things had been different, finn wouldn’t have been a priest, and it was hard to imagine himself as not part of the clergy. (maybe, if things had been different, anita wouldn’t be married too.) being a man of the cloth, that wasn’t the only taboo, was it? anita was married. anita had a husband, not a particularly good one in finn’s opinion, but she wasn’t a single, unmarried woman that could understandably mistake her priest's attention as affection. the ring on her finger added to the scandal of it all and, as much as he hated having to do it, he could rationalize it in his mind. he could let her go, because he had to. “it’s for the best, though. surely your husband wonders where you go at night?”

up until that point she had been feeling excited about father finn calling her so late at night. anita could use all the reprieve she could get, and lately, that had been her conversations with the man who — in the lack of a better way to say it — represented god to her. things hadn't been right in her marriage for so long, it was nice to find comfort somewhere. anywhere. she wouldn't admit, but some things were getting blurrier and blurrier as the days went by. her visits were... innocent at first, but now? she was unsure what to say about them. she didn't know what to say about them. as the words started slipping from his lips, her eyes darted downwards, feeling the slightest feeling of rejection. she didn't know how to handle them, exactly, what should she say back? part of her wanted to beg for him to say, the other part understood what they out of hours encounters could seem to other people. clearing her throat, anita's fingertips started playing with the sleeves of her sweater, something she did when she was feeling nervous, it was weird — to say the least — that she couldn't put away the bad feeling on the pit of her stomach. "i—uh—" she searched for words that didn't come. "i don't know what to say—" the brunette attempted, chocolate hues back on his. "can i even say anything at all? do i have any choice on the matter?" it felt like her world was slipping out of it's axis again, like this was a sick joke meant to make her feel as if she didn't have any control, and anita was all but sick of letting other people handle what happened in her life.

[someotherdog]

anita was angrier than he expected, but he certainly did expect her to be angry. when their last conversation ended, she had made it clear that she was hurt by his cleaving. that he had no right to know about her personal life anymore. she was absolutely right. if he was to cut her off, she was going to cut him off right back. that didn't stop him from caring, though. the diocese could relocate him to another town, another state even, and he'd still have his feelings for anita. she could be married to simon for the rest of her life and he'd still wish it was him instead. despite standing a few feet from each other, they'd never been further apart.

he swallowed dryly. her pain was evident in her voice and it was partly his fault. more than partly, probably. he didn't have the right to know anymore, if he ever had it at all. anita allowed him into her life because she had no one else. no family, her husband was a prick, women were intimidated by her. not only finn coveted her; he saw the looks she got in church, he saw the proud-but-possessive look on simon's face as he noticed all the men admiring her as they walked to a pew. it was just gross. did they not realize how kind anita was? how sorrow had burned itself into her ribs and how incredibly lonely she was? finn knew. she told him so.

i don't know what you want me to say, finn.

what exactly did he want to hear? that she missed him, that she'd stand up to the church for him because he was conditioned to keep his head down? that she was going to leave simon for him? none of those answers were satisfying, because finn knew himself. he could yearn and desire her all he wanted, but he'd never do anything about it. a life of quiet contentment felt more like cowardice. fantasies of their life together, their love, had swam through his thoughts nightly and he would never, ever make a move, for three reasons. first: he was a priest, and he took a vow of celibacy. one that he took seriously, just like all his other vows. second: she was married, even if her husband was a piece of shit. he did respect the sanctity of marriage, like any good catholic. third: he did respect anita, even if she thought he didn't. he wouldn't want to touch or kiss her without permission. her beauty was unmistakable, but not the only thing about her. not even in the top ten most amazing things about her. she must think he's just another objectifying, lecherous man. he felt like one. and a coward.

he'd never touch or kiss her without permission, because it was clear that was the last thing she wanted, evident in the way she crossed her arms around herself. it was finally becoming clear to him that he lost her. finn lost her before he ever had her. he was pushing and pulling her and it wasn't fair. he didn't care if it was fair. he wanted her. that was the honest truth, and one he could never say.

yeah, he didn't understand himself either.

finn nodded, looking away from her. it felt very final. maybe that was what he needed after all. maybe he got her alone for closure. yeah, that must've been it. he still wasn't looking at her, "i'm sorry, anita." his voice sounded watery and he hated that. he must've been the weakest man in the world. he willed the tears to not gather in his eyes. "i'm sorry for being weak and i'm sorry for turning my back on you. i don't know. i guess that's what i wanted to tell you." he finally returned his gaze to anita, his one hand still resting on the trunk. "maybe in another universe, y'know. you and me." certainly not this one, though. he was starting to accept that now. "this has been pretty confusing for me, too. i never thought..." finn faltered, then sighed deeply. "anyway, i am sorry. next time i see you around church, i won't bother you." / @finclgicls

what did he want from her?

was their imposed distance not enough for him? must he come around and torture her with his presence and his concern? here she was, being reasonable, trying to comply to his wishes, with what he had asked of her. staying away and not being friends—if that's even what they were in the first place. him asking how she was doing, him seemingly wanting to sneak this moment with her, it was messing with her mind. she hadn't seen or heard of him for weeks, and now what? now he felt some sort of protection over her because her husband was around? because simon had decided to show off and stake her claim right in front of him? if he knew or didn't know, it wasn't finn's concern anymore. either it was protection or guilt, she would have to deal with it. as she had done her entire life.

alone.

she looked at him for a moment searching for answers, but could only think about how much she missed being this near him. she had every damn right to be angry at him, but all she could feel was how intoxicating his scent was. he was so good, too good for her. life had proven time and again that it would rip away everything she held dear to her one way or another—everything she loved. her heart clenched and her throat closed. anita didn't know how to be around finn anymore. she wasn't aware of their limits toward one another. would it be okay if she touched him? was he still a source of comfort for her? could she still feel for him? want him? be near him? her hand wanted desperately to reach for his face as it had done so many times before, but anita forced it back.

"i don't know what you want me to say, finn. if i tell you i'm fine—if i tell you I'm happy, does it make what happened okay?" it was an unfair question, she knew. "if i tell you i've been feeling miserable, what will you do about it?" his hand had been as forced as hers, but it didn't take away of how hurt she felt. the moment he turned his back on her, he forfeited all his rights to be in her life. the situation was unfair on both of them, but at the end of the day, finn would go back to the clergy house with the other priests and anita would be back to living in her own hell.

she wrapped her arms around herself, putting more distance between them as if there wasn't enough. she was scared of him coming closer because she needed him. she needed him unlike she had ever needed anyone before. still, the disappointment with their current situation was more overbearing than anything she could feel. it was etched in her features. marked further and harder than any bruise simon had ever given her. a small scoff escaped her lips, a low curse under her breath as she realized what she was submitting herself to. was it not enough how many men had hurt her yet? must simon hurt her body while finn aims at her heart?

"i don't understand you, father, and i'm honestly tired of trying." ＋ @someotherdog

[someotherdog]

anita didn’t want to be near him. he could sense her anxiety coming off in waves and he hated that he was the source of it. she followed him silently to the parking lot, he didn’t try to fill the silence himself. quietly the pair walked through the halls of the church. finn threw open the door to the rear parking lot and held his hip against it to keep it open for anita to walk through. once she did, it didn’t take long for them to cross the distance to mrs. campinelli’s car. 

finn opened the trunk knowing that sweet mrs. campinelli hadn’t kept the car locked. they lived in a nice small town where no one had to worry about their safety. they just had to worry what their neighbors were saying about them. loading in the boxes, he looked blankly at anita when she began speaking. his stomach hurt. they had to stay away from each other and all he wanted was to be near her. he felt guilty for going back on his word to his bishop and he felt guilty for abandoning anita. he felt so guilty that despite it all, he just wanted her back. though he never actually had her in the first place.

he wanted to have his cake and eat it, too. that was the truth of it. he wanted to follow his bishop and have his late night meetings with anita without getting in trouble for it. he couldn’t have both, though. finn never thought he’d ever be tempted to betray his vow or leave the priesthood, and though he yearned for anita, he knew that he couldn’t. he gave up too much of his life to be a priest. there was no turning back. there was also the pesky detail of anita’s husband. her controlling, asshole husband. finn hated the man on principle, being married to the object of his affection, but his own personality would’ve made finn hate simon regardless. the way her husband clung to her like she was his property, the stories that anita had confided in finn, his irritating smirk. all of it sickened finn.

finn sickened himself. here he was, coveting thy neighbor’s wife. rather, his parishioner’s wife. the shame he felt came from all different sides and he didn’t know which one hurt most. either way, it probably was best that they keep their distance from each other. he was warned in seminary school that this could happen, that his feelings could get confused. the best solution was to stop the feelings before they even began. in finn’s case, stop them from growing any deeper. they should return to the church.

but there was something that finn knew that anita didn’t: the rear parking lot didn’t have any cameras. as long as simon didn’t come looking for them and no one from the clergy saw, then it was like they were never there. “yeah, we should get back,” finn pretended to agree, “in a minute…” he lifted one hand to place it on top of the trunk door, though didn’t close it just yet. he wanted some plausible deniability. “i just wanted…” he faltered for a second,  “how are you, anita?” finn finally decided on, pressing his lips together. / @finclgicls

     finn's  words  did  nothing  to  ease  anita's  discomfort  as  their  proximity  weighed  heavily  on  her  mind.  the  way  he  had  distanced  himself  from  her  had  left  a  deep  void,  making  every  day  in  that  town  a  struggle.  anita  hadn't  come  here  by  choice—it  wasn't  her  birthplace  or  where  she  grew  up.  when  she  was  just  a  teenager,  her  mother  had  uprooted  them  to  her  hometown  after  her  father's  passing.  her  mother  wasn't  the  most  nurturing,  but  at  least  she  was  someone  anita  had.

     marrying  simon  had  initially  seemed  like  the  best  thing  that  could  happen  to  her  in  this  place.  he  came  from  a  wealthy  family,  living  in  one  of  the  biggest  houses  in  town.  his  family  owned  most  of  the  businesses,  so  his  last  name  was  plastered  across  many  of  the  shopfronts.  sometimes,  it  felt  like  he  was  omnipresent.  he  seemed  like  a  good  guy  at  first,  but  that  changed.  his  jealousy  reared  its  ugly  head,  and  possessiveness  took  hold.  in  simon's  eyes,  anita's  beauty  was  a  problem,  and  he  saw  her  as  on  the  verge  of  running  away  and  never  returning.  she  did  feel  the  pull  of  that  possibility,  but  there  was  nothing  waiting  for  her  beyond  those  town  limits.

     father  finnegan  had  penetrated  her  soul.  first  through  his  sermons,  then  through  their  late-night  conversations.  he  had  breathed  life  back  into  anita,  making  it  a  bit  easier  to  endure  life  in  this  town,  especially  when  she  had  someone  on  her  side,  someone  she  could  rely  on—a  new  experience  for  her.  other  women  avoided  her,  fearing  she'd  steal  their  husbands,  despite  already  having  one  of  her  own.  most  of  her  friends  were  widows,  and  it  was  okay  until  finn  distanced  himself.  now,  having  tea  with  the  older  women  was  a  small  comfort,  but  seeing  finn  like  this,  it  only  made  accepting  what  had  happened  even  harder.

     when  he  told  her  not  to  worry  about  it,  her  unease  returned  in  full  force.  this  was  precisely  why  they  weren't  speaking  anymore,  why  she  had  changed  the  masses  she  attended  to  avoid  him.  and  now  he  told  her  not  to  worry  about  it?  she  frowned,  her  mind  racing  with  a  thousand  things  she  could  say,  but  she  was  interrupted  as  he  turned  his  attention  to  mrs. campinelli.  poor  mrs. campinelli,  serving  as  a  buffer  even  when  she  didn't  know.  anita  found  it  odd  but  was  eager  to  help  the  older  woman.  she  offered  a  genuine  smile  as  she  bent  down  to  grab  the  box  finn  had  indicated.  ❛  the  food  is  truly  delicious  this  year,  mrs. campinelli,  ❜  anita  complimented,  receiving  a  thank  you,  dear  along  with  those  sweet  eyes  and  a  pat  on  the  cheek.

     she  followed  finn  in  silence,  not  in  the  mood  to  discuss  what  they  shouldn't  discuss  in  public.  mrs. campinelli,  like  others  with  booths,  had  parked  at  the  back  of  the  church.  it  was  a  wide  but  secluded  spot,  and  anita's  heart  raced  because  it  had  been  a  while  since  she  had  been  anywhere  remotely  private,  especially  with  him.  she  placed  the  box  in  the  designated  car  and  let  out  a  small  sigh.  ❛   is  that  all?  i  should  probably  get  going  before  someone  comes  looking  for  either  of  us  and  finds  us   together.   ❜  she  realized  she  was  being  slightly  unfair  and  bitter,  but  the  whole  situation  was  breaking  her  heart,  and  any  proximity  to  finn  made  it  all  the  more  painful. 

[someotherdog]

finn would’ve laughed if he could’ve. of course it took just a bit of ego stroking for anita’s husband to suddenly abandon the women he protected like a piece of meat just a moment ago. he had spent many years as a priest, so he quickly became familiar with all sorts of personalities. he could easily recognize the alpha chad types, the ones that looked at a priest—a man of god—and saw him as competition rather than a spiritual guide. in finn’s case, it probably wasn’t entirely unwarranted, but still. no one could know what finn privately thought about anita, and while they had previously been very close, much closer than they should’ve been, it wasn’t as if simon could’ve known what actually transpired between them.

nothing actually happened, though. despite how badly finn wanted to kiss her, he never had. despite how badly he wanted to touch her, he hadn’t. despite how badly his heart ached every time he looked at her, he never said anything. maybe it was in the way he looked at her. whoever reported them and their late night meetings to the diocese probably saw it in his eyes, watched as the two of them sat in the pews in the dark and could only assume the worst. if it was another priest, perhaps father paul, he might’ve thought the same—difference was, if finn suspected another clergyman of breaking his vows with an untoward relationship, he would’ve gone to them first before alerting the bishop. finn could’ve cleared the air with them, convinced the reporter that his interactions with anita were entirely platonic in nature, and their meetings wouldn’t have stopped. he wouldn’t have to miss her so much.

now in front of him, anita looked as if she wanted to die as her husband pressed a parting, uncouth kiss against her lips. finn couldn’t help his natural reaction, a look of utter disgust. if someone were to witness it and question him later, he would have to say he was uncomfortable with any public display of affection, due to his vow of chastity. he would never say it was because he was somewhat disgusted, but mostly jealous. mostly, he wished it was him that kissed her, albeit much softer. anyway, they were in a church, for fuck’s sake. simon didn't have to be so vulgar to make his point. quickly, finn had to fix his face and look off politely, waiting for simon to finally depart. he gave a small smile as anita's husband passed by, clapping finn on the shoulder, then dropped it as soon as the other man walked away.

make herself useful. inwardly, he cringed at the wording. she didn’t need to be useful, not in finn’s opinion. it was enough just to have her in the same room as him, as much as he couldn’t express that. mrs campinelli didn’t seem interested in the two of them, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t. a sweet old woman, finn knew sweet old women could spread gossip among a parish faster than finn could breathe. either way, it hadn’t been publicly announced that he got a metaphorical slap on the wrist because of his closeness with anita. what was there to even gossip about? as far as anyone knew, finn was just a priest and anita was just a parishioner.

still, he frowned when she said it wouldn’t be good for him to be seen with her. oh, who gives a fuck? he wanted to say. instead, he sighed. “let’s not worry about that right now.” finn softly said, then turned to look at mrs. campinelli as she was putting the last of her muffins in some cardboard boxes. “mrs.campinelli, would you like some help loading those into your car?” the older woman smiled gratefully, ‘you’re such a dear, father, thank you so much.’ finn moved to pick up one of the boxes, then looked to anita, “you wouldn’t mind grabbing that other one, would you, anita?” he asked, banking on her wanting to be useful. he had an ulterior motive, however. finn wanted to get her alone.

with mrs. campinelli's presence all but forgotten, anita's eyes concentrated on what was silently shared between both men across from one another. she held her breath, almost feeling as if she was in the presence of two ticking time bombs, her husband much closer to his outburst, finn kept a cool resemblance, the kind of peacefulness one could find in a priest, she guessed. anita hated to be in that situation, hated how simon needed to assert ownership over her anywhere they went—and seemingly had no problem in branding her to get his point across, to make sure she didn't forget she was his, now, it was almost as if he was making sure finn didn't either, and this alone made anita feel scared of what mood he would be in once they returned home.

she didn't let it show, though.

she was all smiles and niceties, she was the perfect example of a doting wife. if she hadn't confided so much in finn, especially about how miserable she felt in her marriage, surely he'd be another person in that town asking her when she planned on having babies with him. if god was truly merciful, never, but she knew god not to show her much mercy. and that was fine. she didn't deserve it. swallowing thickly as she observed the back-and-forth as it happened, she felt simon's gripping her harder when finn directed her the word. "he's a fine priest," she agreed, but so far, she had been attending to keep up a facade, she no longer felt touched by the sermons, they held no meaning to her when spoken through the wrong lips.

and anita couldn't help but watch them as they moved. thankful to be by simon's side and even more thankful he was so caught up in whatever challenge he thought father finnegan was throwing at him, that he couldn't see the way his wife looking at the priest. there was longing, but was there love? the thought startled her back to reality, she didn't quite catch what finn asked of her husband, but she was thankful he agreed. anything to prove himself as a willing member of their little community. anita was pretty sure he was considering running for mayor. it would explain a lot.

she was surprised when simon kissed her lips. he wasn't soft about it either. it was brute, and forceful, and it left her lips swollen, and she hated it. pushing him lightly and feigning modesty when he looked at her quizzically. "mrs. campinelli is right there," she told him with a smile that never reached her eyes, and just like many times before, he didn't seem to notice, his chest puffed as if he was proud for being crass, calling it passionate. "i'm going to help the others load chairs, annie, why don't you make yourself useful, too?" she didn't even deserve a backhanded compliment, he tasted her lips again before walking towards where people were lending a hand, men, mostly, leaving only her and father finnegan alone, it seemed years since they last found themselves in a similar situation.

she watched as he gave her enough space and let out an involuntary relieved breath, turning to see finn had stayed. she felt awkward. trying her best not to balance on her feet as she looked at him. "so—i should, uhm, make myself useful. wouldn't do you any good to be seen with me," she said, certain that mrs. campinelli was far enough not to eavesdrop, even if she tried.

[someotherdog]

anita had a smile on her face, but it was strained. simon had a smile on his face, but it was prideful, borderline aggressive. finn grimaced without meaning to—his youngest sister, maggie, said that he had a mean case of resting bitch face. that was before she stopped talking to him, however. sometimes, he had to work hard to remember his natural expression and change it into something more applicable, more agreeable. no one wanted to confess to a priest that looked like he'd rather be anywhere other than the church. right now, he wanted to be anywhere other than the church. he already didn't enjoy the semi-annual bake sale, the present company just made it harder (save for mrs. campinelli and her blueberry muffins, of course).

simon looked at him as if finn was mere seconds away from grabbing anita and fucking her right then and there. it disgusted him. the possessiveness of simon. his own passiveness. that was the worst part. finn just had to stand there and take it. what was there to really take, anyway? he held no claim over anita, she had her own agency, and there had never actually been anything romantic between them, despite what the diocese thought. they couldn't know anything about what finn and anita spoke of during their clandestine, nighttime meetings. they couldn't know anything about what finn felt inside, his affection for anita.

only he and god knew that.

her husband certainly acted like he knew what happened during those clandestine, nighttime meetings. in fact, he had the arrogance of someone that knew the secret before anyone else. finn wasn't often a violent man, but anita's husband might just change that. fix your face, finn. he tutted at the reasoning, though he had to be somewhat relieved that she didn't come to his masses anymore. it was easier to ignore the pain of tossing her aside, the guilt. "father paul certainly has his charms! i can't blame you there." father paul was considered the fun one out of the three priests that served st. joseph's. finn thought he was corny.

"oh, don't you worry about me. i've made a couple stops around the room already." he joked lightly, then glanced at the forgotten mrs. campinelli. luckily, she seemed more interested in arranging her plastic-wrapped muffins than his conversation with the married couple. his gaze shifted back to anita, taking in the look on her face. suddenly he leaned forward and placed a hand on simon's unoccupied arm, "actually, simon, we're going to need some help loading all the tables and chairs back into the storage room. would you be able to lend a hand?"

attending the bake sale was a request directly from her husband. anita didn’t mind either way. but being near him—father finnegan—was always awkward. their friendship—if it even could be called that—had crumbled down with a few words, and he went from someone anita trusted fully to someone she needed to avoid. the sting of rejection and humiliation from their previous conversation still lingered. her husband noticed the tension right after she got home that day, and his satisfied look said more than he would admit. anita thought distancing herself from finn would make life easier, but it didn’t. simon's jealousy grew, fueled by her refusal to attend finn’s masses, making his suspicions more concrete.

despite the sunny day, anita wore a long-sleeved sweater over her dress to hide any evidence from prying neighbors. she wasn’t sure if simon had deliberately led them toward finnegan or if it was a chance encounter, but she felt his grip tightening around her waist as they got closer to the priest. finnegan spoke to them as if they were just any other parishioners, including mrs. campanelli in their conversation, perhaps to serve as a buffer. while anita appreciated the reprieve from the men towering over her, she still forced a bright smile at the woman, who was hoping for a compliment.

turning her attention back to the men, she noticed simon taking a possessive stance in front of finn. his hand, once gripping her waist, now hovered uncomfortably close to her ass, making her uneasy about this display in front of finn. clearing his throat, simon spoke up first. “i think we should apologize, baby, for not attending the last few masses. but you see, father, annie prefers the earlier one, says she feels more guided by father paul. can you believe it?” he snorted, disregarding her reasons entirely. "simon, come on, father finnegan doesn’t want to hear that, and i’m sure he has other parishioners to talk with. just say the word and we’ll be out of your hair, father," she said dismissively, wanting to pull her husband away from the man who made her heart clench inside her chest.